A New Thing for the Not Exactly Normal
by The Unbreakable Snape Fan
Summary: Alternate reality where the bullet doesn't kill Dally at the end of the book. Before he goes off to jail, Dally kisses Tim and runs off. It just gets weirder from there. There is a sequel titled "Working Out the Kinks".
1. Chapter 1

A New Thing for the Not Exactly Normal

Tim was never exactly what you'd call normal, and neither were the folks around him. Tim was hard. Ever since he had been real, real young he had trained himself to be hard. His brother Curly had followed suit, and so had his sister Angela. It was the Shepard way.

In fact, Tim kind of thought himself to be the shepherd of the Greasers. His crook was a switchblade, and he didn't even need that to gain respect. Yeah, Tim lived a pretty unique life. Not _everyone_ could be a leader of a gang. Even the guy he considered one of his best pals wasn't a leader of a gang.

Now, that pal, his name was Dallas Winston. He'd been born in Dallas, Texas, but he'd been so many places it'd make your head spin hearing about it. It had made Tim's head spin, at least. He'd never been anywhere, much.

But despite everywhere Dally had been, despite everything he had seen, despite how cold he usually acted, he still wasn't as tough as Tim. That's why Tim let him stick around—almost as tough, but not close enough to pose a threat. Not close enough to ever beat him in that regard.

When you got right down to it, Dallas Joseph Winston was a tow-headed hick who had no one to live for. Tim knew if you had no one to live for you wasted strength, and you got a little crazy, got sucked in by temptation and passion in a way someone who had something to actually live for didn't. Like the self-controlled oldest Curtis boy, the leader, Tim had two siblings to look out for and a gang besides. What did Dally have, besides some wide-eyed tagalong, a dead woman, and a couple of horses? It didn't add up to much, did it?

Dally rode real good in the rodeo; he'd give him that. And he was glad that, when Dally DJed at the Slash J, singing wasn't part of the job description, because he had to be one of the most tone-deaf people Tim ever met, and normally it bugged the shit out of him when people did things they weren't good at and knew it and did it anyway, but when they were alone in a car or in a room with the radio going, it was somehow . . . not an issue.

Tim liked a few things about Dally. He liked the passion he sang with, even though half the notes were garishly wrong, and he liked that God-awful face only a mother would love 'cause it gave him a little ego boost. Tim may have had a twice-broken nose and a real long scar from that tramp, but at least he had a pretty face beneath it all. He also respected that, even though Dally was ugly, he still got more broads than Tim anyway. It was the passion, he thought. Dallas was a firecracker if there ever was one. Tim didn't mind the attention Dal got because he wasn't into broads quite as much as him (or all the other guys he knew), and that was more or less okay because he had a lot on his plate.

Truth was, he didn't like sex. Oh, he liked masturbation just fine. He'd thought the naughtiest things of a lot of broads, seen movies, magazines. But when it came to the real deal, he always left feeling vaguely disgusted and not much else but tired.

He liked Dally's stories about sex. Dally was a real good storyteller, and it helped that his hick-accented voice got real husky when he told those particular ones. Sometimes he'd even close his eyes like he was there. Tim envied that he loved sex so damn much.

Tim first met Dallas at the rodeo. Tim hadn't been interested in going, but he'd gone with Curly to keep an eye on him, since he was grounded. Then he saw that arrogant little fool ride, and had been waiting for the moment he'd be thrown to the ground by the bronco. That moment had come a lot later than he'd have liked.

He'd found him afterward, telling Curly to shut up about getting home for the moment. "You're new in town, huh?" It wasn't really a question. "I was wondering if you'd like to join my gang." He almost didn't know why he'd said it, until he realized he liked the guy's demeanor.

"Yeah, I'm new." He hooked his thumbs in his pockets, "But I ain't interested."

"We'll see. Maybe you will be after a drink. My treat."

They stared each other down for a little while before Dally said, "Couldn't hurt, I suppose."

It wasn't long after that the Tulsa cops had a new hood to watch out for, with a record a mile long. Someone with no ties was dangerous, unrefined, like a gun firing off without being aimed right. No one could fully trust Dally, so his stint in the Shepard gang wasn't a real long one.

Dally met a lady named Delia Curtis. She respected and understood him, and he did the same for her. Dally told Tim jokingly to never help someone's old lady carry her groceries home. Tim had scoffed and truthfully replied that he never would have done that anyway.

See, Dally was a little of this and a little of that, but never both at once. He'd jump an old man for a ring, or jump a little kid just for fun, even slash his best friend's tires, but he did little good deeds too, provided no one got wind. Mrs. Delia Curtis wasn't tellin' nobody. What she did do, however, was invite him to dinner, which he declined at first, but after he popped in a couple times unannounced, she insisted.

Dally was really crushed when she'd died in a car accident. He'd cried at the funeral and everything. He'd genuinely liked her, like she was his own ma, a good one. After that, he tried not to genuinely like anybody.

So, Dally had no one to live for but himself, so he'd been to jail many, many more times than Tim. He was part of a gang by the time she died—her son's gang, the Curtis gang. One of the boys in it was this pathetic, abused little thing who felt some weird attraction to Dally, and Dally took care of him just as well as the rest of the gang did, maybe better.

So Tim knew the secret to Dally (and it wasn't hard to figure out): you cut the shit and act like you like him, and he'd open up to you quite a bit, given time.

Tim could have a lot of fun with that stupid Winston. They'd drank, pissed off a bridge, banged a girl together (Dally had a decidedly sloppy way of doing even _that_, but he'd made her cum at least, while Tim hadn't cared to), slept out under the stars, and Dally had even taught him how to ride a horse. So, it was kind of weird when their relationship shifted.


	2. Chapter 2

Dally was wide-eyed and jumpy when he'd came to the door, bandaged up like he'd just run there from the hospital—and knowing Dally, he probably had. Curly had answered the door, only to be pushed out of the way, and Dally made it up to Tim's room.

He looked to be on the edge of hysteria, so Tim turned the record player off, shifted so there was room for Dally on the bed, and waited for him to talk.

"I got shot," he said, laughing a little. He started to pace some.

"You're in trouble," Tim said mildly. What else was new?

He ran a shaky hand thought his hair. "Yeah. Goin' to jail." He was grinning a little.

Tim sighed. "Okay, okay, so what happened?"

"Johnny died. Johnny died, so I freaked and ran, and I had a gun, right? It was empty, but I robbed and let cops see it—"

"Shit!"

"—none of them knew it was empty," he giggled. "And now look at me."

"Yeah, stupid and all bandaged up."

"Naw. Alive." He ran fingertips over the bandage. "I'm immortal." He started laughing and it was a while before he stopped.

"Dally, that ain't really all that funny."

"You got your blade?" Dally said, finally looking serious, and real sad. "Yeah? Got it?"

Tim reached under his pillow for it. "Why?"

"Finish the job, okay?" He knelt up on the bed next to Tim.

Tim stared at him. "You've fuckin' lost it."

Dally reached for the blade, but Tim was quicker. "Kill me. Do it!" Dally gritted his teeth.

"No," said Tim. "If you wanna die so bad, do it yourself." He handed the blade over. Dally flicked it open and stared at it. He wasn't laughing anymore. Tim grasped Dally's wrist. "Don't chicken out. Just do it, Winston. I got a record to get back to."

Dally slowly let go of the blade, but Tim forced him to keep holding it. "Slice your neck, maybe. Or your wrists. Maybe they can bury you near Johnny."

Dally moaned in pain and closed his eyes.

"Maybe you could slice open your side, you know? Bleed to death like you were supposed to."

"That's enough, let go," Dally whispered, tears in his eyes. "Lemme go."

Tim let go, taking the open blade in his hand. "Or maybe I'll kill you after all, you fuckin' chicken. Bathroom's probably the easiest to clean. I have a gun too, if you don't wanna suffer much."

"Stop." He wrapped his arms around himself.

Tim held the blade right against Dally's neck for a few minutes before closing it and putting it under the pillow. "Beer?" He didn't wait for an answer, bringing him one regardless. When he came back, Dally was curled up in the middle of the bed. He made him sit up, handing it to him.

"He was a friend, not your wife or brother or somethin'."

"He _was_ my brother. Fuck off."

"You gotta get back so they can send you to jail." He handed him a lit smoke. "Pull yourself together. You're making me sick."

Dally took a long drag, leaning against Tim. Tim held him a little. Dally smoked it down and drank the beer.

"It's time to go back, Dal."

Dally reached up to cup the side of Tim's face, stroking at his long scar, and just as he was wondering what Dally was doing, fidgeting a little, Dally gave him a soft kiss right on the lips.

"Write to me," Dally said, and then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Tim didn't write to Dally, though. What he did do was think about that kiss. He replayed it over and over in his head. What had it all fuckin' meant? The tenderness, the stroking of his scar, the almost shy way Dally'd said, "Write to me."

He wondered if things would ever be the same between them again. Why did Dally have to fuck _everything _up? And then he saw Dally'd keyed his car with a big "FUCKER" on the side.

"Dallas Winston!" he called.

Swinging a ring of keys, Dally came out from behind a tree. "What? Couldn'ta been me. You know I was in jail with no one to write me. That's real low, man. Even Johnny used to try and write, and he couldn't hardly read."

Tim pulled him toward him by the shirt. "Good behavior, huh?"

He didn't bat an eye. "Yep."

"No more hysterics?"

"Nope."

"And no more kisses?" Dally flinched. Tim sighed, shoving him backward so he stumbled a little, but caught himself. "Look, I know you were shook up." He'd already decided to forget about it all.

"Yeah," he joked, "I'm usually a better kisser than that."

"Naw, I've seen you kiss, Winston. You drool and you're noisy and there are broads out there who can't get enough of it. You eat face like you're eatin' pussy."

Dally grinned a little. "Not that you'd know about that, Tim."

Tim shrugged. "That ain't my job. Get in, get out."

"It tastes good," said Dally.

"To you, maybe. You'll eat anything."

"Well, not anything. I never eaten cock before. But I only know one guy who has and that's 'cause he can reach his own."

"No way!" Tim blurted, taken aback.

"I saw it myself," said Dally a little smugly. "Think about that, Tim. If you could just get over the taste of cock, you wouldn't _need_ no broad. Get in, get out on your own. "

"Might be less work," he admitted.

"You know, sometimes I don't even think ya _like_ broads," said Dally off-handedly.

He leered at him dangerously. "Of course I do." He tackled Dally to the ground, pinning him and staring down at him coolly. "You take it back."

"Face it. You hate pussy."

The blade came out, making the familiar noise as it clicked open.

Dally didn't have anything on him. "Alright, fine. You're a real ladies' man."

"I fuck plenty of broads."

"You fuck plentya broads. And you're good at it," he added, trying to roll out from underneath him.

Tim let him up, putting the knife away casually. "What you want to eat?"

Dally picked himself up off the ground, dusting himself off. "Anything, man, I'm starving. Been eating nothin' but shit."

He heated some leftover chili up.

"I know you like magazines. You just don't like broads. Maybe we should find you a cardboard cutout, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, you think you're real funny. Give it up."

The parents were out, the kids were in school and it was just him and Dally like old times—well, close to old times.

"You know the night your shadow died, when you did _that_?"

"I don't know if I remember that, Tim, that ain't specific enough."

"You know, your little parting gift."

"Still ain't specific."

"The kiss."

"What kiss?"

"When you kissed me!"

Dally looked up, raising an eyebrow. "That's weird, man."

"No, you kissed me," Tim insisted. He was getting real mad again.

"Yeah, I know." He paused. "Get me a beer."

"Will you just explain yourself, you albino piece of shit?"

"Get me the beer first."

And Tim heard Dally get up behind him as he went to get it for him. He whipped around, only to find Dally was even closer to him than he'd anticipated. "This is what happened." Those fingertips brushed his scar, tracing it as if to memorize it, and then Dally's lips were against his again.

And suddenly, Tim felt it was like a game of chicken. Like maybe whoever pulled away first was just scared of something that could never happen. He sought entrance into Dally's mouth. The lips parted.

They battled with spit and tongues and lips and teeth, until Dally's finger's curled in Tim's greased hair and Tim pulled back to get him to let go. They panted, staring at each other, Tim's hand over Dally's hand, which was still lodged in Tim's hair.

And then Dally's other hand made a quick crotch grab, testing Tim's hardness. He was back at the table before the wide-eyed Tim could react, eating some more of that chili like the world hadn't just flipped over.

"Out," Tim said.

"No! If anything, I should be mad at you. You didn't write me."

"I never said I would. You didn't want to wait for an answer 'cause you'd _kissed_ me. You can take your homosexual ass somewhere else. I'm sure someone'd be glad to take it for you."

Dally got quiet, staring down at the old tabletop.

"I'll give you another chance, but no more funny business." He rubbed at his chin a little where Dally's stubble had rasped against it.


	4. Chapter 4

They were quiet for a little while until Tim barked, "Ain't you got other people to bother anyway, Grease?"

"I ain't been to see anyone else yet," Dally said, and Tim heard the unspoken words. Dally couldn't face them yet.

"You can take the couch. Go do somethin' with yourself until then." He sneered at him before walking off.

And Tim left. Dally went out and bought some beer. Quite a lot of it. Then he sat down on the couch at the Shepards' house and drank.

And even when Angela came into the room and he told her to fuck off and she didn't and just grabbed a beer instead and he didn't hit her 'cause he didn't hit broads, he still drank. In fact, he drank a little more quickly than before.

He hadn't drank since the night Johnny'd died, and figured he was playing catch up. Angela just kept encouraging him. She talked away about nonsense and he drank until she didn't look like a total bitch, and then she drank with him and encouraged some more, smiling at him with lust in her gaze.

But unfortunately for Angela, who was hoping to get Dally drunk, she'd done a little too thorough of a job. When she reached inside his jeans to pull him out, she couldn't get him all the way hard. She took her shirt off, she tried to suck it, then she took her bra off and rubbed her breasts in his face. He made a jerky grab for one, squeezing it, and then said something, but it was so garbled she couldn't make it out.

She'd had enough! He was supposed to be great, or so she'd heard. She tried to get him hard one last time and he just looked up at her blearily, and said, "Tim?" and that was the last fucking straw.

Before she knew it, she was throwing empty bottles at him and he was stumbling to his feet, still hanging out for all to see, and she was still topless and furious and very much coherent, and Tim, well, Tim had just chosen the worst possible time to come in, now hadn't he? For Dally, at least.

Tim rushed to Angela's side, soothing her. "I'll take care of him. Get decent," he said to her, before turning an angry gaze on Dallas and letting one fly. He cussed him out, beating on him until his fists hurt, and then he hefted him up and threw him best he could out onto the porch, locking him out.

Angela couldn't have asked for a better turnout. She dressed and whimpered and tried to look upset without playing it up _too_ much (she was still Angela Shepard, after all), and it wasn't until the next morning when Dally was off somewhere else and Curly came up to her, real concerned, wanting to lay into Dally himself, when she told him he didn't need to bother.

Curly knew something was up, but he didn't tell Tim just yet.

Meanwhile, Dally was finally at the Curtises. Though he was a little more bruised than he would have liked.


	5. Chapter 5

No one talked about Johnny at first. No one mentioned him. They were all tiptoeing around Dally like he was _so fuckin' delicate_ and it made him sick.

"What, he's dead, so we just don't talk about him no more?" He looked around at them all, even through his black eye. Johnny would have told him it looked real tuff.

"Would you . . . like to see his grave?" said Soda.

"It's been a little while. We could all go," said Darry.

Ponyboy shook his head, getting up. "First, I got something I want to show you. The letter."

Dally sat up a little straighter.

"It's the last thing he ever wrote." Ponyboy went to his bedroom and came back out with the copy of Gone with the Wind, handing the letter to Dally.

"A . . . what? Why a sunset?" was all he said, ignoring the shakiness in his voice. He handed the letter back. He wasn't gonna cry over it now.

"Cherry Valance, remember her?"

"The girl who dumped the Coke on you," said Soda softly with a little smile.

"Yeah, I remember," he scoffed.

"She used to watch sunsets from her side of town, like I like to do here. It's just . . . maybe none of us are that different, you know?" He looked at Dally hopefully.

"What have you been smoking? It ain't cigarettes."

"Well have you ever watched a sunset," said Ponyboy, "really sat there and watched the whole thing?"

Dally didn't say anything.

"So how would you know? I might just be right."

Dally narrowed his eyes, doubting it. But when the sun set that night, it _was_ pretty. And it reminded him of Johnny, of the gravesite with sweet little flowers. He let the tears come, some, because the sun was going down anyway, and pretty soon no one would be able to tell.


	6. Chapter 6

Sneaking out, Curly slowly made his way to the Curtis place. It was already dark. He first came face to face with the big one, Pony's oldest brother (okay, more like face to chest). "I'll get him," was all he said, in a sort of grunt.

Ponyboy was at the door then. "Oh hey, Curly. What do you want?" He stepped out onto the porch with Curly.

"Look, Ponyboy, I ain't here for you right now. I gotta talk to Winston. He in there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he is. What . . . what do you want with him?"

"I have to ask him a question. For my brother. Nothin' to serious." He lit up a cigarette and took a drag. "Be a good little pony and go get him. Okay?"

Ponyboy's mouth thinned a little but he went inside and Dally came out not long afterward, arms crossed, sporting bruises and a black eye, and not looking amused.

So he'd lied. It was something pretty serious. But he didn't need to explain that to Winston, 'cause Winston hadn't been fooled. "What really happened, with Angela?"

Dally stared at him in stony silence for a long time until Curly finally lit up another cigarette and handed it to him. Accepting this gesture, Dally took it and put it to good use. "I don't really know," he said.

Curly was surprised. "What do you mean 'you don't know'?"

"I was real drunk."

"Tim said you tried to get with Angela," Curly subtly cracked his knuckles on both hands as he spoke, "And she threw things at you until Tim got home."

"She ain't really my type," he said dubiously. "And I was real drunk. Wasn't barely even thinkin', just remember bottles being threw."

"Dally, her shirt was off and your pants was down. What else could that mean? Plus, she's everybody's type." Dally started laughing and Curly wondered what was so funny, trying to give him his coldest stare.

"Ain't that the truth," Dally muttered. "Well, I don't remember it, so you should ask her. She'll probably lie, though. I haven't drank that much in a long while. I think, if anything, _she _was flirting with _me_. Maybe tryin' to get me drunk."

"She ain't like that!" said Curly, making fists.

"Whatever you say." Dally shrugged. And then his mind seemed to be thinking of something good. "I guess there's only one way to know for sure."

"How?"

"Eavesdrop on us."

"You want me to eavesdrop how?"

"I don't care how, just do it. I could apologize, you know, and if she didn't say nothin', she didn't want me anyway, and I messed up. I'll leave you all alone. I don't think I took that blouse off her, though, you know?"

"Yeah, you think she did it herself?!" Curly was deep in thought now too. "She probably did, too," he said resignedly.

"So let's prove it. Find a good hiding spot, why don't you? I gotta say where I'm headed. They worry," he explained, rolling his eyes.

"Alright. Hey, Dally?"

"Yeah?"

"Unbutton your shirt or somethin'. She likes a little peek."

He raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, kid. Good to know. You're alright."

So they made their way to the house together, and Dally waited a good fifteen minutes for Curly to find a good hiding place in Angela's room.

Then he made his way into the house himself. He knocked on Angela's door.

"Go away," he heard her mumble after a while. He knocked again. Finally, she got up, dressed in only a short nightshirt. Luckily for him, he didn't care what that bitch wore. She still wasn't very appealing. Too crazy for him. He liked crazy, but he didn't like the level she took it to.

She opened the door. "Dallas?!" She looked shocked.

"May I come in?" he asked after a minute.

She looked him over. "I don't care." She flipped the light on and sat on the bed.

Dally stood by the door. "I'm sorry." She looked at him, expression unchanging, so he went on. "See why I wanted you to leave me alone? I get real crazy when I drink." He shifted a little, his open button-down shirt gaping even more, showing a pec this time, complete with nipple. He took in the way she eyed it for a moment.

"It's okay. I should have left you alone."

"Maybe I should leave," he said quietly. "You ain't dressed very much, and it's late, and I should just go."

"How can I forgive ya if you just take off like that?" she said, shifting a little herself so the short nightshirt got even shorter. He purposefully flicked his eyes down to its hem. This actually might go the right way.

"I know how you are, Dallas," said Angela. "I shouldn't have stuck around when you were so drunk." She got to her feet again slowly, coming a little closer. "I guess I can't really blame you for looking at me."

"Beer's a poor excuse," said Dally. He paused, waiting for a response he didn't get, again. "I guess I'll go before Tim catches me here."

"I thought about it a lot, you know." Her eyes traced the patch of skin his open shirt revealed.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." She stepped forward even more. "Thought about what it'd be like if you were sober. Everyone's asleep," she whispered, looking up at him with that cool confidence.

"That ain't true," he said. "Curly—"

"Curly ain't here."

Dally smirked a little at that. Angela took this as something in her favor. She pressed her body against his just as Curly rolled out from under the bed.

Angela leaned up for a kiss just as Dally said, "Hi, Curly." Curly tapped her on the back and she shrieked and pulled away from Dally.

"Dally didn't touch ya, did he?" said Curly.

Only startled for a moment, Angela pulled her fist back and swung at Dally's already sore face. He stumbled back a little, but recovered enough to shove her backward and make a break for it.

"And stay out!" she called after him shrilly from just outside her doorway. It didn't take long for Curly to begin running to his own room. She'd woken up their step-dad by then, he was sure, and he wasn't about to stick around. She didn't get quite to Curly's room before she was stopped and told to go to bed, shoved back toward her room.

Listening to the silence after the sound of things crashing, of Angela going nuts, Tim waited until he was sure the tantrum was over and she had tired herself out before he slipped out of her closet. He'd have to find Dally.


	7. Chapter 7

Tim's first instinct proved to be right (that happened a lot when it came to Dally), and he found him in the empty lot, already asleep.

He nudged him with his foot. "Get up. Get up, Winston."

Dally sat up, grumbling. "Apologize and let me get back to sleep."

"I ain't here to apologize!" he snapped. "But . . . just . . . maybe I was wrong."

"Apology accepted." Dally rolled over to go back to sleep.

He gritted his teeth. "So how's your face?" Tim reached to feel Dally's face.

"She ain't got as mean a punch as you," Dally said bitingly, shrugging the touch off.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine. Will you buzz off? It ain't like you really care."

"Well, fine," said Tim after a pause. "I'll go back home, then."

"So go."

Hesitating only slightly, Tim did so.

* * *

Angela was not happy when Tim tried to talk to her. She hadn't gotten back to sleep, fuming only in silence now, and he drew her out of her room.

"I don't wanna hear it, Tim."

"You let me beat on Winston for no reason, didn't you?"

She didn't say anything.

His mouth thinned a little. He'd been real worried about her being almost raped by Winston. "Why were you so sore at him?"

"He couldn't get it up," she finally muttered.

"Well, yeah, Angela, he was near passing out."

She crossed her arms, looking doubtful.

"So that's all this is? You wanted somethin', but he couldn't give it to ya?"

"It ain't like _you _don't know why he didn't want me," she gave him a little shove.

"Me? What are you talking about?" he said, refraining from shoving her back. He didn't like to get rough with her much.

"When I tried to get him up, he thought it was _you_!"

Tim's eyes widened.

"You see? So don't you talk to me about not touchin' Winston." Angela stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door.

"Angela!" he called, coming to the door, but not trying to go in. "C'mon, you really think I'd do that?"

"Go away, faggot."

"If you wasn't a girl, Angel...," he growled.

"Oh, I know what you'd do then."

"Angela!"

"Go away."

* * *

He rounded on Dally the next morning while he was still in the lot. "You thought it was _me_," he said.

Dally blinked, looking up at him through squinted eyes. "Huh?"

Tim sat down next to him. "Angela said when she tried to get you hard, you thought it was me."

Dally shrugged and closed his eyes, curling up. "Great. Now leave me alone."

"So it wasn't just a kiss," he said. "And it wasn't just letters. You're some silly old broad who wanted some attention."

"Pretend I got a blade at your throat now," he yawned, curling up some more.

"I could tell everyone about you, you know."

He cracked just one eye open. "You wouldn't do that," he said finally, closing them again.

"Oh yeah I would."

"No, 'cause it's more likely you're the broad-hater, man." He finally sat up, looking at him. "You'll ruin your name too if you say I have it in for you, and you know it."

"So you admit it?" He curled his lip.

"Can I really be beat up any more?" He arched a light brow.

"Aw, shut up." Tim laid down on his back, staring up at the sky.

"So we're clear, you wouldn't ever wanna try anything with me?" He poked Tim in the side until he looked at him.

"That's disgusting."

"Doesn't have to be." Dally shrugged. "Could be nice. I don't know." He pushed himself up. "I'll see you around."

Dally left before Tim really had the desire to even sit up. There was too much to think about, and he hated that he was thinking about any of it at all.


	8. Chapter 8

"What are you doing here?" Tim asked a few days later.

Dally stood and swaggered over to Tim with a cold beer. "Waitin' for you to get home, man."

"And Angela didn't kill you?"

"Naw. Came in through the window."

Tim took a swig, but turned to Dally. "You know this ain't gonna work."

"What ain't gonna work?"

"Gettin' me drunk. I can't get hard for you, not even then."

"Dallas Winston pays no heed to 'can't's. He'd call that a challenge."

Tim sighed, sitting down on the bed. "What do you want from me, Winston?"

"The honest truth?"

"The honest truth."

He sat down on the bed next to Tim. "I don't know."

"Don't you bullshit me, Winston. You knew well enough to . . . kiss me. Twice."

Dally shrugged. "It don't mean nothin'." He took a swig from his own bottle.

"Bullshit. Total bullshit. 'Write to me'," he mocked. "You don't call that meanin' somethin'?"

"It's different now."

"Get awful dramatic when you're goin' to jail, do ya?"

"I wasn't supposed to, that time."

"Yeah, you were _supposed to _die. Right? Wasn't that the deal?"

He leaned back on the bed casually. "Well, Johnny was gone, Tim. No one else woulda missed me."

"That's the most intelligent thing I ever heard you say. The justice system finally fix you this time?"

Dally winced and said nothing.

Tim lay down too, facing him. "Did it?" He chuckled a little. "No. You ain't fixable, I guess."

"Right."

The silence was a little awkward.

"Can I crash here tonight? And I don't mean on the motherfuckin' couch." Dally tossed the empty bottle over the side of the bed.

"I don't care."

"Okay."

* * *

The next morning, Dally made breakfast. Angela shrieked to see him in her kitchen, but they all managed to calm her down enough for her to head back to her room and hate him from there.

"She'll get over it," said Curly.

Dally shrugged. He didn't care if she didn't.

* * *

Dally stayed for a few more days. There was a party at one of the members of Tim's gang's girl's place, and Tim invited Dally to come along with. After he invited him, though, he kind of regretted it. He feared Dally would do something stupid to jeopardize his rep. He worked hard to be the leader of his gang, and he'd kill Dally if he ruined that for him . . . or close to it.

Dally seemed to sense his unease and while Tim started drinking, he slipped off to have fun with one of the single broads. He danced with her, some of the dancing getting pretty dirty. Another broad went ahead and cut in, and Dally was glancing at the other guys smugly.

Big deal. Tim already knew Dal was a real ladies' man. They just slurped up whatever he gave 'em, like dogs. Big fuckin' deal.

But when both the broads dragged him up toward the bedroom, to cheers, Tim got a little jealous. Of all three of them. Which made him all too happy to drink more. He left only feeling slightly better. He was almost tempted to see if he couldn't peek in on 'em, but that was stupid. He'd already seen Dal fuck a broad anyway, the sloppy shit.

He fell asleep feeling alone, which made no sense. Maybe he was just achin' for a little action himself. He could have stayed and tried to find a broad, but most of them there knew what he was like. He wasn't exactly the most considerate guy.

When he woke up, Dally was next to him, freshly showered, hair still a little damp, and he was dead to the world. That was good, because he was already dead to Tim. Tim kind of felt like he'd been showed up the night before.

But god_damn_ if Dally didn't look serene in the sunlight there, wasting fuckin' space. Tim shook him.

"Fuck! Go away!" Dally batted him off, curling up, tense again. When he was asleep, he'd looked at peace, for once. Tim hadn't liked it.

"You overstayed your welcome. Go back to Buck's or somethin'. I don't care. Go." He dragged him out of the bed.

He shook Tim off him, brushing himself off. "Yeah, guess you ain't the mornin' after kind of fella."

Tim didn't like this kind of teasing no more. It had to stop. "You fuck two broads, then you come back here and sleep in my bed? You're fuckin' crazy. Crazy, man."

Dally stepped closer, traced Tim's scar with that fingertip . . . .

Tim yelled, shoving Dal so hard he almost lost his footing, but caught himself and, with a cocksure grin, said, "Maybe I am."

Then he was gone again. Tim felt like pulling an Angela, but he'd have to chase Dally down first, and all his energy had left him.


	9. Chapter 9

Dally didn't come back. Tim was tired of waiting for him to come, so he went out looking for him. He had his knife on him too, just in case he needed it. He wasn't happy, and Buck could tell.

"Where is he?" Tim growled at him.

"In the shower. Should be gettin' out soon." He stood in the doorway awkwardly. "He do somethin'?"

Tim just pushed past him and into Dally's room to wait for him. What he didn't expect was that Dally would come in without even a towel on.

The two of them stared at each other.

"Buck didn't do no laundry," Dally explained, face a little pink as he moved around the room to get dressed. Tim didn't make things any easier on him. He blatantly stared.

Mainly because he couldn't look away.

Dally dressed real quickly. The more clothing in between him and Tim, the better, probably. On top of that, he did kind of have some weird feelings for Tim, and while being naked in front of him sounded okay, now wasn't the opportune moment.

Or was it? Tim was practically slobbering all over himself. Dally was pretty oblivious as he finally sat down on the bed near Tim, clothed. "What is it?"

"Huh?"

"Why're you here?" said Dally, clearly annoyed.

Tim just looked away from Dally, sort of bowing his head. It wasn't like he hadn't seen him naked before, but . . . but . . . holy shit. He turned to look at Dally, just staring into his face. He wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to kiss him.

Oh fuck.

Dally slowly smirked. "Aw, c'mon. Ain't nothin' you haven't seen before."

Before Tim even knew what the hell he was doing, he grabbed Dally by the shoulders and shook him angrily, then held him still. He looked into those staring blue eyes, a little wide, quiet. He wanted him to stop judging him, dammit it, hated to look into his eyes like that at the moment, felt like that gaze was laying him open . . . so he kissed him.

He clutched him to him, the kiss all about force, all about domination, all about making Dally stop _picking him the fuck apart_. He was on top of Dally, who was lying on his back on the bed looking dazed when the kiss broke.

There was a startled noise from Tim as he looked down at that expression and felt like keeping it there.

Thus, it was Tim's turn to run off. Buck made some joke about asking if there was blood on the sheets. Tim barely even registered it.

Dally let him run. But he knew he'd be trying to find Tim again very soon. Tim wasn't just gonna walk away scot-free from _that_. He'd kissed Dally; _he_ had kissed Dally. His fate was sealed.


	10. Chapter 10

Tim should have known he couldn't hide forever. Hell, he _did _know he couldn't hide forever. But Dally gave him a couple days to cool off anyway.

In fact, Dally didn't mention the kiss when he did show up. He didn't say much at all, just sat down and had a couple smokes, sitting there, quiet.

It was Tim who finally breached the subject. "Dal . . . about what happened . . . ." But he had a hard time elaborating.

Dally turned to him, that smirk on his lips. "I'd say we're about even with the come-ons now, huh?" He kicked his feet up on the table.

"We ain't even. I just wanted to—"

"Kiss me. Yeah, I know. Somethin' about the sight of me naked makes people swoon," he teased, sprawling out a little more, one arm on the back of the couch, just behind Tim.

Tim huffed, but didn't say anything, just swiping Dally's lit cigarette from him and taking a drag.

"The sex ain't much different from the regular kind, you know?"

"Bullshit. How would you know?"

"You really wanna know how I know it ain't much different?" he waggled his eyebrows a little, and Tim shoved him for it.

"Fine. So maybe you know a little somethin'. Fag."

"At least I like broads too, Shepard."

"Shut the fuck up." He threatened as if he was gonna burn a hole in Dally's cheek with the cigarette, but didn't really feel like it, putting it back in his mouth.

"I knew you was stupid, but I thought you took chances, saw opportunities and pounced on 'em. Am I right?" This time Dally leaned against Tim, shoulder to shoulder, head resting against the side of Tim's. "Or are ya an idiot after all?"

"I'm not no idiot," he warned. There was a small silence in which he found himself reaching up to toy with the light hair at the back of Dally's neck. It was soft and clean and he curled his fingers in it slightly. Dally didn't dare move.

Tim finally spoke, putting out the butt. "You don't wanna get into it with me, Winston. You know how I am."

"For cunt. But I ain't got one." He wrapped that arm around Tim finally, pulling him a little closer.

"You _are_ one," Tim muttered, but sighed. "So, you done this before?"

He sat up and took a long, hard look at Tim. "Yeah."

Tim just nodded, expression blank. On the one hand, doing it was wrong, even if Dally was the broad and he was the man. It was something no one took lightly, except maybe Dallas himself, but, man, Dally was the idiot most of the time. On the other hand (there were always two hands), he wanted to touch more of Winston. Pathetic how he'd been secretly elated at the chance to finger the soft wisps of hair at the back of his neck. Fucking pathetic.

"Okay," he said finally.

"Yeah?" Dally looked a little surprised.

"Yes! Okay? Yes. C'mon." He dragged him up toward his bedroom carefully, but quickly.

"You got more balls than I gave you credit for," Dally grinned.

"You shut up and take those damn clothes off."

Dally resisted making a comment about how eager Tim seemed to be, taking off his clothes so he was naked as a few days before.

Tim found his eyes glued to the sight again, but this time he was allowed to stare—supposed to stare. Dally smirked at him, but instead of anger, Tim just felt a little more turned-on. "On the bed," he said firmly.

But Dally, naked and confident, bypassed the order, starting on Tim's clothing for him. Tim, a little frightened of what he thought of as Dally's attempt to steal back control, pushed him back on the bed himself.

"That ain't fair!" said Dally, sitting up. "You get a good look at me, and I don't get to look at—oh." He trailed off because Tim had unbuttoned his jeans and pulled himself out, giving a stroke.

"Okay?" he griped. "Fuckin' whiny."

"Yeah, that's better. A lot better." Sliding back on the bed to lie down, Dally watched Tim closely as he let the rest of his clothing fall to the ground in a disorganized pile.

Then Tim's lips were on his again. They both fought for dominance, Tim insistently and Dally lazily, until they finally broke it off to breathe. Tim was straddling Dally's body now, looking down at him, and, truth be told, he liked what he saw.

The only hair on Dally's body was real light stuff, almost see-through. If Tim squinted, Dally's torso kind of even resembled that of a flat-chested broad. A really muscled flat-chested broad. He dove in, flicking his tongue over him, even through the hair, and got it all nice and wet.

Dally let out a surprised sort of noise. He reached up and grasped Tim's cock as it hung there between them, until Tim pushed his hand off after a few humping motions. It took him a couple rocks of his hips to realize what Dally was trying to do. Well Dally was the broad, so he should shut up and take it like one! Tim was never one for insistent broads.

Tim got to one of the nipples. Broads liked a little suck. Sometimes it made 'em go farther than they'd even planned to. He liked when that happened. He gently pinned Dally's arms down on the bed because the hands on the ends of them were getting sneakier.

Okay, Tim would have to admit this was getting to him. It almost felt . . . right. Until Dally's panting and groaning, which Tim was going to remember for times to come as a sort of teasing blackmail, became more . . . breathless. But not in a good way. Dally was panting too much. Tim got off of him, letting him go.

Dally's eyes were closed tight and he was still having trouble breathing and Tim didn't know what to do, so he sat on the edge of the bed dumbly, staring. What the fuck was wrong with Winston now?

As his breathing slowed some, Dally turned over onto his side, as if trying to hide from Tim's gaze. Tim covered Dally up, got dressed again, and went out to cool off.


	11. Chapter 11

While he was taking a walk, he came across a member of his gang and they chatted for a while before he decided Dally'd had enough time to calm down.

When he returned, Dally was asleep in his bed, still naked. Figured.

Tim took off his shoes and his shirt and slid behind him. Dally was warm, and he looked so helpless, and Tim just _had _to let himself drift off wrapped around him.

Only, it surprised him that he woke up still wrapped around him. As Dally slept, Tim pulled the blanket down a little—not past their waists, but right at them. He gently explored Dally's chest. After a little while, he felt Dally stir awake and press back against him.

Tim was still kind of confused about their last try, but didn't want to be the one to bring it up, so, in the silence, he just explored that slightly-hairy torso. There was no doubt that Dally had a nice body. He liked touching it. He started gently plucking at those nipples again, remembering the way Dally had moaned, and was glad Dally didn't start breathing hard again. They could take this pretty slow.

He kissed at Dally's shoulder and the back of his neck, tasting the slight saltiness of sweat. The taste, to be honest, turned him on. Not that he wasn't already pretty turned-on. He gave Dal a slight hickey there, between his shoulder and his neck. Dally bucked and let out a moan. Tim carefully, slowly, reached down to touch Dally's erection. He tried to ignore that he was doing it.

He knew it went against his principles, but he just wanted to see what it was like. He circled it with his hand, feeling Dally stiffen in his arms before pressing his hips forward slightly. Tim distinctly heard Dally whisper his name. If Tim was honest, the cock was just a little bigger than his own.

He felt Dally's hand gently cover his, guiding it. He would have pulled away if it weren't for the fact Dally had said his name like that. No one, _no one, _not even the most passion-infused broad he'd slept with, had _ever _said his name like that. He felt almost nervous as he let his hand be guided, but he eventually stepped into the role cleanly, knocking Winston's fucking hand away.

"This ain't yours no more," he teased breathlessly against Dally's ear and he gained a hedonistic shudder and groan in response. Dally sure was vocal, wasn't he? He even got to hear his name said again, pleading this time.

So Tim had to move. It was the only right thing to do. He couldn't leave a pal hanging like that. He stroked that fucking cock and he did it well, because he wasn't going to half-ass this. He'd decided that before, when he'd made the decision to bring Dallas up to his room with him. He was going to do this all the way or not do it, and he was a little past not doing it now.

Dally's body was still warm against him. He was straining at his own jeans, but now wasn't the time, not when he had the boy _literally_ in the palm of his hand. He only lifted his hand away (to a pleasingly distressed and angry noise from Dally) to wet it pretty good with spit before lowering it again. Dally bucked like he was the bronco, not the rider, and Tim slid his other arm under him to hold him a little more still, only to have Dally kick back against him.

Tim cursed, but didn't lose hardly any of his own hardness, scowling and cursing at Dally as he rolled over. Dally looked into his face, grasped Tim's hand again, and placed it on him. "Don't . . . don't fuckin' hold me down," he growled, and he rocked slightly, and Tim looked down at the sight of him holding that thing, and started working at it with even more fervor, forgetting his anger.

It was pretty. Dallas Winston's cock was fucking pretty. He spit in his palm again, letting Dally rock. He guessed he wouldn't have liked being held down either if he were Dally, and they were pretty similar.

He let Dally map out his chest with his fingers. It was much like Dally's, but darker, a little wider, and with more hair. Black hair that Dally seemed to like running his hands through. He worked at Tim's nipples a little like he'd had done to him, and even traced the patch of hair going down to the waistline of those jeans.

Dally kept tugging at his nipples, pretty relentlessly, until he went for that patch of hair again. He teased his fingers along that waistline, only dipping in slightly, maddeningly. Tim pulled at Dally a little in reply.

And then, as Dally moaned and rocked and went for the button of Tim's jeans, opening it, but not even having moved on to the zipper, Tim came with a long moan.

Dally's eyes were wide and he guided Tim's hand a little more quickly before he came too.

Recovering, trying to maintain a little dignity, Tim made a face at Dally's cum now covering his hand. Dally grasped his wrist, though, and . . . and . . . and licked the cum off. Tim stared at him, especially when that tongue of Dally's darted out to lick those lips, catching anything he'd missed.

Maybe Tim Shepard _was_ queer. Because his cock gave an interested twitch, even as it lay spent in its own juice.

Dally tenderly unzipped the jeans, sliding them down off of Tim. The sticky briefs followed. He checked to make sure the coast was clear before pulling Tim into the bathroom and locking the door.


	12. Chapter 12

And right after Dally locked that door, he was pushing Tim back against it, kneeling. He sniffed at Tim's wet crotch before licking at it. Tim gasped, pressing forward slightly. "Fuck!"

Dally licked and sucked the cum out of his pubic hair, then nosed the only slightly-interested cock, staring up at Tim with a few drops of cum adorning his chin. Then he pushed himself up and, ignoring the look of disbelief on Tim's face, started the water.

"You hate pussy, don't you, Tim?" he asked casually, turning and preening a little bit, even cupping his own flaccid cock just so, showing it off.

Tim didn't answer. He just rolled his eyes and passed Dally to get in the tub.

"You'll admit it someday," Dally said confidently. He grabbed the soap from the lip of the tub and started washing Tim's body.

Tim shook him off. "I can do it myself," he snapped.

Dally handed it over without a fight, closing the toilet and sitting on the lid, watching as Tim took over.

"You play around like it all don't mean nothin'. It does. You have to be serious sometimes."

"But you don't gotta _always_ be serious. Hurry up, I gotta get cleaned up too."

Tim hit Dally squarely in the face with the bar of soap.

"Ah!"

"Your turn, Princess," Tim smirked, getting out and drying off.

Dally moved to get the soap and Tim stared at the view of Dally's ass, hating himself for the fact. But loving the view more.

Dally took his prize over to the water. "I'd stay like this all day and you know it. Being dirty doesn't bother me. _You're_ the princess, Princess."

"Yeah, well, I thought they teach you not to pick up the soap in jail."

"C'mon, Tim," said Dally, already starting to scrub furiously at his body, "Thought you liked bein' serious."

"Not like it would matter if _you_ picked it up, though. You already done that all before."

"C'mon, Tim."

"Do you really have to break every rule of nature laid in front of you?" Tim smiled slightly. He kind of liked that about Winston.

"I'll break your face if you don't shut up."

Tim's eyes snapped to Dally's face. No smirk, no hint of humor, just blankness, cold blankness, like what he was known for.

He held the gaze a little bit longer. Then he backed down. "Okay."

Dally finished washing up and grabbed the towel out of Tim's hands. "Go get me my clothes."

"My room is right next door."

"Get 'em."

"Winston—"

"Now!" He crossed his arms, towel firmly around his waist, expression still dark and serious. "Get me my fuckin' clothes. Now."

So, slightly confused, Tim did. Dally always was pretty unpredictable, though. Tim watched as he stormed out of the bathroom, fully dressed.

* * *

Tim felt the gnawing need to apologize the next day. He went straight to Buck's.

Only problem was, Dally wasn't "seeing him", according to Buck.

"You won't _see_ anything if you don't back off, Merril," Tim said, and really seemed to mean it. "Now fuck off, you hick."

Buck tried one more time. "Look. This is his home. You're trespassing. You did something to him or something. Give him some time and he'll come around." And when Tim's hand strayed dangerously close to a pocket that probably held a blade, "Or should we get him out here and see what he thinks?"

So, grumbling to himself, Tim had to look for Dally's window. To his great luck, it was open. He slid into the room, dropping onto the floor right in front of Dally, looking up.

"Knew you wouldn't take no for an answer." Dally shut the window and pulled Tim angrily to his feet. "Just leave me be, alright? Fuckin' Shepards."

"I at least deserve an explanation."

"Well, you ain't gonna get one." Dally moved to sit down on the bed again. He was shirtless, much to Tim's delight, and he crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl when he felt Tim had eyed him just a bit too long.

Back to the matter at hand. "I'll touch you again." He moved toward the bed carefully. Dally stood his ground—or, rather, sat his ground.

"Nice try, Shepard, but I can do that. Every girl in _Tulsa_ can do that—and wants to. That includes you."

Tim grit his teeth, but let it slide. "Okay. Well . . . you can touch me."

Dally didn't move. He kept staring straight ahead. But Tim could see the wheels turning.

"No. Just leave."

"But you want to. Real bad."

"Says who? Get your ass outta here."

"Outta what, outta these pants?" And Tim was naked to his knees.

Dally stared. And stared. And looked as if he was going to get up. He rose, and he opened his mouth to say: "BUCK!"

Buck rushed to the door of Dally's bedroom more quickly than Tim had his pants up, and got an eyeful of Tim's naked ass.

"What're ya doin'?!" he said, covering his eyes. "Jesus, Mary, an' Joseph! Pull those up."

"No. I'm fuckin' Dally."

Buck peered through his fingers at Dally. "Is that true?"

Dally looked fairly mortified. He shoved Tim. "Pull those pants up."

"He only called you 'cause he was getting hot."

"You boys work this out," said Buck, leaving. "Shit."

"Shit," Dally repeated, and Tim pulled him close for a kiss.

Dally sank into the kiss, but pushed him away when he got to thinking straight. He stared downward, itching to grasp Tim, but tried to ignore the urge.

"Dally," said Tim.

"Shut up." Dally shoved him again.

"No. Dally."

"What? What the hell do you want from me?!" He moved back to his bed, firmly seating himself again.

"I hate pussy."

Dally's eyebrow cocked. Tim moved a little closer and Dally grasped his shirt, pulling him down to the bed.

"I'll let you take the lead for a little touching, this time."

Dally was way ahead of him.


	13. Chapter 13

Tim didn't worry about the mess this time. All he registered was falling asleep in Dally's bed. Buck came in to peek at them when the noises stopped, just to make sure one hadn't killed the other or something, to see Dally curled around a sleeping Tim. Dally gave him a thumbs up. Buck winced, but returned it before shutting the door again. He'd have to change the sheets again, he guessed.

Tim was woken up with a shake, followed by gentle kisses. Not an altogether poor way to wake up, he thought. He caught Dally's lips for a quick, sloppy Dally kiss. "This is weird," he said when the kiss finally broke and they were holding each other.

"Doesn't have to be." Dally nosed his slight stubble. "I think I'd give up pussy for you," he murmured against that slightly-scratchy skin.

Tim scoffed. "You _would not_, Winston."

"Maybe I would." He pulled back a little, looking Tim straight in the eye.

"You don't have to," Tim said in a rush. "C'mon. Don't be crazy. Folks'll suspect something's up. And don't you wanna have yourself a wife? Babies?"

Dally scrunched up his face in disgust. "I don't do marriage. Marriage is fuckin' crazy. Like a prison, only with bars you can't cut your way out of without losing an arm or somethin'."

"You didn't say no to babies," Tim pointed out.

"What do you suggest? I knock her up, let her have the baby, then kill her?" He grinned a little bit.

"That's twisted, man. Totally twisted." Tim curled up against Dally's chest, Dally's arms encasing him.

"You love it. Naw, though, that ain't important. Probably be a shit father anyway. My father was a shit father. My mother was a shit mother. My kids ain't got a chance."

"Yeah, probably."

"But we ain't weird. I'll fuck a broad every once in a while if you want me to. You can even watch sometimes."

Tim didn't say anything, but Dally knew he'd like it. He'd liked it the last time.

"Admit that this is weird," Tim said.

"It don't gotta be."

"Admit that you're weird, then."

"What?"

"You know. You're always panicking."

"Did I panic today?"

"Well no, but—"

"Well then, I ain't _always_ in a panic. So I'm fine."

"Two out of three times you freaked out."

"That ain't true." Dally tightened his grip a little until it was kind of hard for Tim to breathe.

"Okay, you're normal. Fuck, let go."

Dally let go and Tim laid down next to him, coaxing him into his arms instead. "Okay?"

"Who should I fuck?"

"You want me to choose the broad?" Tim grinned a little.

"Why not?"

"You're a fuckin' romantic. Anyone tell you that?"

"Maybe once or twice. Let's get something to eat."

"I'll think of someone for you."

He tossed Tim his clothes. "Don't bother. Already got someone in mind."

"Yeah?" He worked his way back into his clothes, wiping off on the sheet as best he could, though everything was pretty dry now.

"Her name's Shepard."

"Angela?" Tim paused, voice dangerous and quiet.

"Nope. Tim."

"That ain't true, though. You're the broad. It's gonna be me in your ass, right?"

"Right." Dally busied himself with his shoes.

"So I'm the man and _you're _the broad."

"Naw."

"No? How can you say no? That's just how it is."

"Ain't you ever heard of the broad bein' on top?"

Tim's eyes narrowed.

Dally just chuckled. "C'mon, Tim, we can both be the man."

"That ain't natural."

"No matter what you call us, we still both got a penis. And mine's bigger than yours."

"By like a little!"

"So you admit I got one, then."

"Yeah, you got one. And I might taste it sometime."

Dally whipped his head around to look at Tim. "Well, I just might let ya."

Tim smirked to himself when Dally looked away, almost all the way dressed. Dally sure threw him off balance a lot, but he could do the same real easy now. Dangle sex in front of Dally and he wasn't no use to himself anymore. It was beautiful.

* * *

Only, Tim was a little more nervous about it than he let on. Especially since Dally'd probably had this done to him a lot more times than broads had done it to Tim (which was twice). But Dally instructed him and was real helpful until Tim really got going and all the sounds that came out of his mouth were purely sexual. But by then Tim _knew _he was doing it right.

It didn't take long for Dally to shoot this way, especially with Tim cupping one of the cheeks of his arse, stroking it gently. It just felt so right in his hand.

But, Tim almost gagged at the taste. Dally quickly pulled him up and took a lot of it right from his mouth and swallowed it. Tim ran to the bathroom to wash out his mouth, but Dally followed him.

Stepping behind him, Dally held his head toward the mirror, forcing Tim to look at himself. Then he soaped his hand a little and got to work. After having witnessed Dally's reactions earlier and not touching himself except a few strokes at a time, Tim was still really hard and hot, even with the off-putting taste of the cum. Dally worked at him relentlessly, even past the point where his strong knees went weak.

With the non-stop attack from Dally, Tim was clutching the sink when he came, trying to catch his breath. Dally cleaned up the mess for Tim, leaving him there, still trying to regain the ability to stand, staring at his reflection.

Dally's cock in his mouth had been amazing. He hadn't even bucked too much. Plus, Dally had told him he didn't need to take in the entire thing. He had felt powerful there. Who wouldn't, with Dally reacting that way? Tim finally stood, ignoring Buck's scandalized face as he followed Dally into the kitchen and kissed him deeply.

Tim had always thought relationships were stupid. That sex was about taking and taking and taking and then throwing the broad out. But giving, shit, giving could be nice too. Especially when the giving led to taking.


	14. Chapter 14

"Sit up," Tim told Buck.

Buck looked up from the couch where he was reading the paper. "Somethin' wrong?"

"It'll have been a month tomorrow."

"A month?"

"A month of . . . of me and Winston."

"Oh. Oh, okay. Um . . . okay."

"Yeah." Tim sat on the edge of the coffee table. "Yeah, so, can you help me out?"

"Help you out _how_?" he asked a little warily.

Tim scrunched up his face in complete disgust. "No, I just want to . . . maybe get something for him."

Buck looked surprised, finally sitting up. "Okay. Got somethin' in mind?"

"I've never . . . done this before."

"Yeah." Buck nodded. He thought Dally was the farthest thing from a broad there was.

But Tim had never given _anyone _anything before, broad or not. "So . . . flowers, or . . . or something?"

Buck laughed, so Tim pulled him forward by the shirt.

"Laugh again. I fuckin' dare you. Smart ass." Buck sobered, so he let him go again. "Got any better ideas, genius?"

"Not really. Maybe . . . maybe somethin' small that, you know, means somethin'."

"Like _what_?"

"Like anything that means somethin'." He shrugged. "Okay? I ain't Dally."

"No shit." Tim eyed him with a sneer.

Buck shrugged. He wouldn't want Tim all over him. Yuck.

"Great fuckin' help you are."

"Good luck," Buck said as Tim stormed out, picking up his paper again.

* * *

So that was how he found himself tearing Curly's room apart.

"_Shit_, Tim, what are you lookin' for anyway?"

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up," he said, and when he finally found it, he pushed Curly out of his way to try and straighten its crumpled form a little.

There it was. The program from the first and only rodeo he'd ever gone to. The one where he'd met Winston. That had to mean something.

But he picked a couple flowers just in case.

* * *

"What the fuck?" Dally stared at the flowers in disgust, holding them gingerly before rounding on Tim. "What the _fuck_?"

Tim didn't know what to say, slightly embarrassed, and Dally threw them on the ground.

"That ain't funny."

So Tim offered him the crumpled piece of paper. He felt kind of like an idiot. It wasn't a good feeling.

Dally ripped it from his hand, nearly tearing it in the process. He eyed it for a little bit, and then realized what it was.

"Fuck you," Tim said while Dally was still looking it over. See if he ever got Winston anything again. He made to leave and Dally stopped him.

"Hey, Shepard. Come back here."

"Fuck you. Seriously, man, fuck all of this."

"No. No, I like it. But . . . why?" Dal made his way over to Tim, who was still glaring at him furiously.

Tim's expression softened a little and he shrugged.

"Well . . . thanks."

Tim just nodded, and Dally pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear. "Next time you bring me a goddamn bunch of flowers, I'll tear your balls off." And as Tim tensed slightly at the words, he kissed his cheek. "Now take your pants off."

Tim knew Dally's go at sucking him off was a lot better than his own. No matter what the task, Dally's enthusiasm made up for any lack of skill. But he didn't seem to be horribly lacking in skill either. He raised Tim to new moaning, squirming heights of pleasure, and then just held him.

Behind closed doors, Dally liked to hold and be held a lot. Tim didn't mind it too much. It was just Winston. He almost always felt okay around Winston. When he wasn't ready to tear him a new one. Or wasn't lusting after the one he already had. Speaking of, when were they gonna . . . well...? Anyway. It just felt nice, is all.

"Happy anniversary," he murmured against Dally's chest.

"Hm?" He stroked Tim's greased hair. "Is it?"

"Well, we been going at it for a month. That counts," he said a little defensively.

"I believe ya. I'm shit with dates." He smiled a little to himself. "Thanks, man. Ain't never got anything from anyone before that I can remember." Except from Mrs. Curtis, but that was more of a mother sort of thing.

Tim scoffed. "I know why."

"You get broads flowers, man. I told you I ain't one."

"Okay, okay."

They were silent for a while.

"Think you can get it up again?" Dally murmured, kissing the top of his head.

Yeah. Tim thought he could manage. Funny how with a boy, sex meant more than flowers.


	15. Chapter 15

"I woulda been happy with you buyin' me a beer," Dally murmured.

"Winston?" said Tim after a while.

"Yeah?" He ran fingers through that curly, greased hair.

"This is weird, ain't it?"

He smirked softly. "What, sugarlumps? Gonna buy me more floooowers? Pick up our little baby from school, yeah? I love you, Tim. Bring home some good money," he mocked. "_That_ would be weird."

Tim sighed.

"We ain't fuckin' nothin' _like _weird, Shepard." The way he caressed Tim's back gently as he said it made "Shepard" feel as affectionate as "sugarlumps", with none of the mocking humiliation. "It's just right." He cut Tim off before he could say anything about that. "It _is_ right. We're both guys, with cocks, and it's right; and you admit it, Shepard! Admit it now."

"Okay. It's nice."

"If you didn't think it was nice, you wouldn't keep track of an _anniversary_. Man, that was real tuff of you."

Tim tensed at the perceived sarcasm, but Dally was serious.

"I thought it was real tuff," he said again, more quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Dal?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"When are we gonna do it for real?"

Dally rubbed at his shoulders and back some more. "Why, you in a rush?"

"Well, we will, won't we?"

"Well sure we will." His voice was a little softer now.

"When?"

"Shit, I don't know. When we feel like it."

"I felt like it for a month."

"Okay, when _I _feel like it. Or...," he reconsidered this statement. "Sometime this week. Okay?"

"You'd really let me?"

"Didn't I just say that?" Dally said tersely.

"Okay." He pressed a kiss to Dally's chest.

"Now go on and get home, Tim. I'll get you when it's time."

* * *

Dallas Winston was nothing if not true to his word. He looked sick to his stomach as he led Tim back to Buck's.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Dally snapped. Tim didn't ask again.

Dally stripped very quickly, handed Tim a tube of KY, and got on his hands and knees on the bed.

"We don't gotta _start_ with it." He looked at Dally's tenseness. "I'll put my mouth to you again, okay?"

Dally looked conflicted, but he did roll onto his back and let Tim at his cock. Dally was pretty good at not choking people, as Tim had found out the last time, so he wasn't too concerned this time either.

He started slow, nosing at the curls there, taking in the smell. He stroked hands along Dally's sides and torso and thighs, everywhere, just trying to help him relax.

Then he started with licks. Little laps of his tongue and real long, drawn out tastes. 'Cause, really, he _was_ kind of tasting Dally. He could do without the taste of what came out of it, but the cock itself, well, it was just nice to lick.

When he sensed Dally getting a little impatient, he started with taking it in just a little bit. He didn't rush it, and eventually took him in pretty good.

"You don't gotta stay on," Dally groaned, "You know, when I shoot." Tim loved him for it, working at him a little more. He trusted Dally to warn him. His goal was to make Dally as weak-kneed and pleasured as Dally had made him a few weeks before hanging over the sink.

And, as Dally tugged his hair gently in warning and shot all over his face and chest (which Tim could deal with), he knew he'd met that goal.

Dally came down from the high, tugging Tim up, holding him close, the stickiness between their chests. But he knew what was to come.

"You still got it?" Tim murmured, sitting up to grab the KY.

Dally turned around again, ass up, and spread his legs slightly in invitation. He just wanted Tim to go ahead and get it over with. He seemed more relaxed than before, but not by much.

Tim squeezed some out. He worked a finger into Dally. Dally was making small sounds as he worked on stretching him. "Shit, this takes a little while, doesn't it?" Tim joked. Dally laughed a choked sort of laugh. "You okay?" Tim asked him, pausing, his two fingers still deep inside that tight entrance.

"Yeah."

He didn't sound very okay. But he'd said he was ready, so Tim was going to go ahead. He went for a third finger. Dally definitely didn't seem like his normal, passionate self, but he still wasn't telling Tim to stop. So Tim wouldn't stop.

He squeezed out some more, smearing it on himself and around Dally's hole.

"Say when," said Tim. He rubbed himself along that crack. Not bad. Not bad at all.

"Ready?" he said again when he didn't get an answer.

"Winston!"

"Dally?"

Tim pressed against it, wanting so badly to be inside. The pressure triggered a grunt from Dally.

"Okay?"

Dally was closing his eyes and gripping at the sheets. "Do it already," he growled into the pillow with a barely-there shiver.

So he pressed in. Oh _shit _it was nice. It was really smooth somehow, and so hot and tight he nearly didn't register more of that deep, soft grunting from below. He started fucking him, trying to get him to relax a little more. It was a couple minutes in that one of the grunts turned into something suspiciously like a sob. Tim thought it was a noise of passion at first.

But it wasn't.

Dally seemed to droop a little under him, and he repeated that sound, trying to stifle it, but doing a poor job. And Tim realized, even through the rush of blood in his ears, that Dally was crying.

Well, at least, he thought he was. He wormed his hand down in front of Dally's face and felt the choking wetness of tears.

He wanted to keep fucking him. The old Tim Shepard would have. But he was starting to soften anyway. It just wasn't right. Winston was crying.

He pulled out and stepped back off of the bed, watching as Dally collapsed forward and cried a little more. He was a little scared of the situation, to be honest. He'd only ever seen Winston cry one time before.

It didn't take too long for Dally to control the sounds he was making, and he curled up in that awkward, ashamed position again.

"Tim?"

Tim got back onto the bed, lying next to him. Dally sniffed a pathetic sort of sniff and pressed back against him. Tim reached to hold him, Dally's back to his front, kissing his light blond hair gently until he finally seemed to relax some more.

Dally hated that he wasn't able to do it. He was just so scared, lost in the memory of foreign, evil sensations. Tim felt guilty for making Dally cry.

"Finally done?" he said gruffly.

Dally didn't move at all.

"You got weird again, man."

"Yeah." Dally's voice was rough. "Ain't my fault."

"How ain't that your fuckin' fault?" said Tim, but it had less bite than he'd meant it to.

Dally chuckled one of his weird, crazy chuckles, and whispered, "God, you're stupid. You're so fuckin' stupid. You're stupid, stupid, stupid, Tim."

"I'm not stupid."

Dally fell asleep like that and Tim let him.


	16. Chapter 16

Tim, on the other hand, couldn't sleep a wink. Buck was at the table and so was he and they were just sitting there in silence for the longest time.

"I made him cry."

Buck looked up. "You did? How'd you do that?"

"Fucked him."

"You must be real bad at it, then."

"Shut up. I'm bein' serious. Sometimes . . . I don't know. Sometimes he just gets weird on me. We'll be fine and then all of a sudden he's freakin' out. It's unnerving, man."

"I guess that would be unnervin'." More silence. "Did you hurt him?"

"Naw, I don't think so."

"Huh. Well, want some pie?"

No, Tim didn't want pie. He wanted Dally to be okay again. He went back to the bedroom only to find Dally dressed and lying there, looking right at him.

"What's wrong, Dally?" Tim asked. He called him Dally, not Winston. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing him.

"You really ain't got a clue?"

"Not one," he grudgingly admitted.

Dally took in a deep breath. "I dropped the soap, okay, Tim? Get it? Finally get it, you fuckin' idiot?"

"Shit."

"Just go. Just leave me alone."

"Dally—"

"Just go!"

Dally's revelation was still sinking in at a rapid pace, but he left him alone.

* * *

Dally was staying at the Curtises again, and that big one, Darry, he kept Tim away. The gang was all getting fed up with him, and he was close to giving it up as a lost cause.

"Oh, _you _again?! Damn, just go home, Shepard," said Randle, a friend of Sodapop's. "He doesn't wanna see your ugly face around here any more than we do."

"Aw, get away, Steve," Ponyboy said, shooing Steve in the house, who looked real pissed off. No telling when he could fly off the handle. Ponyboy was really calm. "Hi, Tim," he said in his shy way. Well, shy or scared. Tim would take either.

"Ponyboy Curtis."

"Yeah. What do you want with Dally?" he asked, looking real sweet and sincere, but also ready to stand up for Dally.

Tim tried to decide exactly how much to tell him. "I need to talk to him about something he told me."

"About what?"

"Since he didn't tell _you_, it ain't your business."

"Did you hurt him?"

Tim winced a little.

"Again?!"

"This time it was . . . it wasn't on purpose."

"But you still hurt him." Ponyboy's eyes narrowed.

"Let me see him." When Ponyboy's expression only darkened, he added, "Please?"

"Okay . . . but tell him Steve let you in."

Tim dashed inside and was searching rooms before Pony had even showed him the right one. Tim heard the boys all fighting with Ponyboy and shut the door to the room Dally was in.

Dally looked up at him blankly.

"I'm real sorry," Tim blurted out. That hadn't been what he was planning to say at all, but it seemed to shock Dally, and that was always good.

"I just don't like bein' reminded," Dally said, looking away slightly as Tim came near to him and sat on the bed.

Tim trailed fingers gently over Dally's cheek, and then ran his thumb over some of Dally's stubble. "Ponyboy let me in. He's not a bad kid."

"Why're you still here. You apologized."

"I ain't leaving you here. I'd rather have you in my bed than here."

"I can't be in no one's bed. I get weird."

Tim slid into the bed next to Dally and gave him a tender kiss. "I wish you'd have told me sooner, Dally."

Dally didn't say anything for a while. "It's real hard. This last time in jail wasn't the first time. I didn't remember when it happened the first time because my mind forgot. To protect me, you know? I was young."

Tim kissed his cheeks and his forehead and even his eyelids, just listening to Dally speak.

"I'm good in a fight, but I ain't that strong," he said, wrapping an arm around Tim.

"Dal, I won't ever fuck you again."

"No, we can eventually. Just, it's too hard now."

"It felt real nice," Tim admitted.

"Yeah, I could feel how much you liked it," Dally teased.

"Does it hurt?"

"It hurts less if you do it right."

"Did I do it right?" The tone was almost shy.

"Yeah, I think so. Just . . . don't hold me down, baby, okay?" He nosed Tim's neck gently.

"Of course not."

"Maybe we could even do it face-to-face," said Dally, a little pink.

Tim kissed him deeply. "Come to my place, sugarlumps," he murmured, moving on to Dally's jaw and his neck.

As Tim led the way out of the room, he saw Ponyboy's back running back toward the living room. He wouldn't tell, though. Probably.

The frightening thing was that, as everyone was saying goodbye to Dally, Two-Bit called him sugarlumps.

But Dally punched him and his rep was restored.

All Tim and Dally did that night was cuddle and kiss a little bit. But it was nice.


End file.
